


All Clear

by BolterSexual



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Gun Kink, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BolterSexual/pseuds/BolterSexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Axton is alone on Pandora, 'the missus' guarding the camp he's made for himself. Hasty decisions and sexy guns.</p>
<p>My headcanon is that he is in complete love with that damn turret and her name is Asha. I have no idea what I'm doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Clear

There was the faint _shick_ of metal rasping against itself as the magazine slid free of its housing to a practiced hand before being nestled in the crook of his lap. Muscle memory was all it was, all it had been for a long time. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but when the bounties were slow and the action quieted into a crisp night at 2 am in the middle of this ravenous desert, Axton often found himself burning with cabin fever, mind wandering to places probably best left alone. Worked hands eased the slide back on the small weapon and a grey-blue eye inspected the interior, lingering at the clear view of the dying campfire glistening through the barrel. Axton sighed out in frustration as the slide closed with a sharp _clack_ , his breath fogging in the stinging, bitter air. Of all things, the lack of good company was what the ex-sergeant loathed about this shithole the most. Glory-hounding had it's own appeal and the money was good, but... 

A soft whirring snapped the ex-communicate soldier out of his thoughts, abruptly realizing that he'd been rolling the chain about his neck in his fingers. "What's that, darlin'?"

Visibility was absolute trash out here at night, it wasn't unusual for Axton to deploy the Dahl-issued sentry to keep an eye on his back. Last thing the merc needed was getting jumped by bandits or worse while trying to get some shut-eye, on the occasions he actually managed something akin to it. The intimidating, destructive weapon turned on a pintle mount slightly, as though its curiosity had been piqued if only for a moment. A half-cocked smirk hung at the commando's jaw as he slid the magazine back into the sidearm, fingers almost caressing the cold steel before holstering it at his side. 

"Yeah," he chuckled dryly, "I know."

A long, quiet, moment passed, devoid of any noise or creature that would intrude on it's silence. Axton's eyelids fluttered closed, his head lolling back to rest at the rock he'd taken to leaning on while calloused fingertips rose to fidget with the chain at his neck again. A certain melancholy washed over him and was quickly dismissed as he thumbed at the set of tags and the shimmering ring, rugged features taking on other emotions that went unbidden in his solitude as more vibrant, pleasing memories invaded his thoughts.

"I wonder if she even knows how much we miss her, Asha." Longing lingered on his tongue, eyes opening to rest his grey gaze at the quality ballistics on display before he rose to his feet, dusting the sand from his pants and approaching the faintly humming machine, boots swishing through the loose sand on the surface.

It was such a contrast to everything Axton knew as attractive, to the warmth and plushness of another human being, nonetheless the turret was beautiful in its own right. High-quality metals made for countless amounts of combat having merely chipped the paint and being no fool soldier, he was quite fastidious about its upkeep. Whether or not it was out of sentimental value, the ex-sergeant often saw to it that this indispensable weapon was kept in peak condition which showed in every burst of fire on the enemy, every bullet rending through flesh with terrifying force. Drawing his fingertips along the edge of one of the dual missile pods and to the main bulk of the machine, a shudder skittered up the mercenary's spine, teasing a small grin from his lips. Maybe it was the desert emptiness finally getting to him, but Axton didn't bother stopping the smugness that overcame his form, the teeth that captured his lower lip as he drew in a slow, deep breath. 

"You think...?" Axton began on an exhale, seemingly unsure of himself as a free hand moved to the belts of .50 caliber ammunition draped from the core of the turret to explore each curve of every round before slipping back up to the barrel, digits absorbing the searing sensation of cold, unforgiving steel against the heat of his own skin, "...fuck.." he finally whispered, palming the crotch of his pants and adjusting himself in yet another well-practiced motion.

_This had always been more of Sarah's thing, she would just..._ , he pondered almost wistfully as his grip at the sentry tightened, an abrupt wave of carnality crashing over every nerve in his attuned body as vivid remembrances twisted like licks of fire across his memory. It was as picturesque as it was brief, and Axton found himself bowing forward to lean at the core of his beloved turret, lips parting in a quiet groan as his loins surged in earnest. Thumbing at his member through the well-woven fabric, the mercenary gripped at the protrusion, seeming to forget himself in the open air. Cracking open his eyelids, piercing steel grey hazed over in thought, the arm draped over the poised sentry slunk over the low droning machinery, tracing the belt feed up and around each rigid angle and turn, the disparity between the stern metal and his own aching gun spurring impatience in the ex-soldier. A low growl escaped Axton as he wrenched open the belt at his waist, not bothering with the formalities of unzipping the fly before wriggling his hand between the layers of soft fabric and hard muscle to coil around his near-painfully engorged shaft. 

The merc's growl simmered to an audible groan, recent celibacy a fleeting thought as each prolonged throb fighting against his working palm excavated more recollections to assault his senses. The ex-sergeant clutched at the turret, seeking to explore the second barrel: slightly smaller and modified to throw slag, paving the way for more mindless destruction. Admiring the texture under his fingertips and the familiar rush of the pair's lethal combat prowess Axton panted out in heat, stroking himself with more fervor, fingers slick with thick fluid as they deftly glided over the head of his cock. Through the rushing blood in his ears he caught the whine of belts springing into action, felt the support move under his weight as the turret shifted on its mount again. Gripping at the base of the nearest missile pod, Axton steadied himself, hesitating for the thunder of open fire that never came and in a slight disappointment realized that he would have to cease this moment to hear her roar.

"Just like her.." he breathed an all-clear with a half-smile in the near-intoxication, the fog from his words in the chilled air thick with his internal temperature as the mercenary continued his ministrations, giving himself a shudder-inducing squeeze. 

Despite the cold, a light sheen of perspiration glistened at his brow as the soldier worked himself over, calloused hands certainly not the touch of another but no less sensationally pleasing with a firm grip on his turret. He considered quieting himself merely out of habit, stifling the haggard moans that rose up from his throat before the absurdity of it hit and he let go, soft grunt spiraling into a frustrated cry for ecstasy. Axton's pace quickened, upper body practically draped over his companion and face pressed to the biting cold steel, gasping for air between waves of gratification. Something turned in him, lurching over itself as heat flooded his veins, pinpoint voltage striking at the base of his skull as the first and strongest wave of release hit him like a speeding train and nearly dropped the mercenary to his knees, the overwhelming cannonade of orgasm ripping a pleasure-laden cry into the still air. Wet heat invaded the confined spaces of his pants, viscous and sloppy as Axton rode out the last dregs of euphoria, the over saturated grip on his member slowing as he finally managed a proper lungful of air before exhaling out in a contented groan. 

Only when a stiff breeze lit up the sodden state of his clothing did he realize the error in his ardent self-pleasure, decorated brow furrowing in dejection as he made an awkward effort to stand upright. 

"Fuck me," he griped, only now unfastening the restrictive cloth and freeing his hand, dripping with semen, "really should have thought that out a bit more. Now where the hell did I put that scarf?"


End file.
